Dr. Clay rubbed at the black stubble across his chin. He was a thin man, but his eyes had a brightness and energy that betrayed his keen mind.
“You also employ defects?” he asked, more to himself than anyone else. “Interesting. And I assume you apprehend defective humans.”
“Of course.”
“I've heard mixed things about you, Commodore Voight, and I thought most of them impossible. But your access to this facility—coupled with your possession of Ontwenty's research—proves you're well on your way to becoming the first human governor since the reformation.”
“So, you'll perform my operation and join me as a member of my crew?”
“I'll do the operation,” he said. “But let me get my things in order before I accept your offer.”
“Very well.”
Endellion turned around and motioned for Sawyer and me to join her. We walked to the door, and she stopped. “Sawyer?” Endellion asked, keeping her voice low.
“They're here,” Sawyer replied, staring down at the text across her PAD. “They've been here for a while. They're using short-range transmitters to communicate. I suspect it's to bypass security. Given the range, they're already inside the facility.”
“Who?” I asked. “These wannabe assassins?”
“That's right. They're also here to acquire research. After decoding their messages, I can safely say one team plans on killing Endellion—and themselves—to act as a greater distraction. The defect research is important to them, but Endellion is a nice secondary.”
Endellion grabbed my upper arm. “Take Sawyer and find them. Stop whatever attempts they plan to make. Alert the other security personnel, if needed. You accomplishing this alone won't impress me.”
“Why go through with the surgery right now?” I asked. “Obviously we should wait until these guys are dealt with.”
“I need to meet with the Vectin ministers, governor, and high governor in 12 hours from now at a pre-hearing for legislative process. After that, Ontwenty will assign me the task of suppressing a rebellion transport, which will require us to leave Vectin-14. Since recovery time for my surgery is eight hours—assuming no complications—I can't risk delay. Additionally, removing Dr. Clay from Vectin-14 as soon as possible cuts back on the chance that someone else will make him an offer.”
Damn. She'd had a fucking dissertation prepared for that explanation.
“All right,” I said. “We won't let anything happen.”
“Good.”
Endellion released me, but before she could move away, I took her arm instead. She gave me a cold stare, but I didn't mind. She was always intense, even if she tried to hide it.
“You never mentioned a plot of property when you recruited me,” I whispered. “But you mentioned it to the doctor right out of the door.”
Endellion nodded. “There are two types of people who work on an enforcer starship—the desperate, and those who take to the profession. Dr. Clay is desperate, thanks to you and Dr. Rhodes, and needs the extra push. You, Clevon, take to the profession. The property is a bonus for you, not a requirement.”
I wanted to argue, but she was right. I hadn't needed the added incentive to join, but the doctor had been on the fence until she sweetened the deal.
The desperate, huh? Endellion seemed to have a lot of those in her crew.
“I have an operation to get to,” she said. “Don't fail me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ASSASSINATION
“Where are they?” I asked.
Sawyer shrugged. “In the building. Perhaps outside. But close.”
“You don't know where they are specifically? I thought you were on top of this.”
“Tracking the communications of a bunch of would-be assassins isn't enough to impress you?” she sarcastically asked. “Next time I'll let you do it, and I'll be the one toting around the gun.”
Now wasn't the time for playful bickering. “Do Lysander and the others know our targets are close?”
“Not yet.”
I pulled my enviro-suit helmet over my head and waited as it suctioned into place. Once the screen pulsed to life, I switched through the comms until I had everyone in the nearby area.
This wasn't Capital Station. I didn't know my way around, I didn't know the procedures, and I didn't know the terrain. Devising a plan that involved catching a bunch of assholes who did have that information put me at a huge disadvantage. It wouldn't stop Endellion, though, so I couldn't let it hold me back, either.
“Lysander,” I said. “If you were going to lead a team of rebels into this building, what would you do?”
For a second, he didn't answer. I got angry—thinking he was ignoring me—but the moment his comms line flickered onto my screen, I calmed down.
“Most research facilities on Vectin-14 have internal scanners to prevent corporate espionage,” he said. “That means that prepping the place with explosives or an electromagnetic disturbance would be near-impossible. They would've gotten caught within the hour.”
“The building does have internal scanners,” Sawyer said to me, not through the comms.
How was she even hearing the conversation? She wasn't wearing an enviro-suit, and she was just standing around with her gaze glued to her PAD. Maybe she had some sort of cybernetic implants, as well, something that worked in tandem with her PAD, so she could listen in on communications.
Lysander continued, “The mag-lev trains go through security checkpoints, and walking in on foot is a long trek that requires passing several gates with guards. The quickest way into the building, avoiding the most obstacles, is through the landing pads on the roof. Those transport shuttles are checked and given clearance at other stations, but the clearance authentication could be faked—or the cargo tampered with afterwards—and no one would know until the shuttle arrived onsite.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“Preparations would be made on the landing pad to avoid the internal scanners. Once inside, the alarms would likely trigger on any unauthorized weapons, but by then they would have the advantage.”
I switched off my comms and turned to Sawyer. “And what would you do if you were on this assassination team?”
“I'd be manning the building's scanners,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “That way, when the insurgency began, I could prevent the alarms until it was far too late for security to do anything about the problem.”
“Wouldn't someone notice the scanners being tampered with?”
“Depends. But that's why I wouldn't risk long-term prep. However, a couple extra minutes can go a long way.”
I reconnected my comms. “Lysander, Mara, you two should meet me on the landing pad.”
“I'm already there,” Lysander said.
“I'll head that way,” Mara chimed in.
“Good. We'll search the place together. Quinn, Yuan, you two should get to the IT office and check on the people operating the internal scanners. Someone might attempt to tamper with them.”
“Heard,” Quinn replied.
“On it,” Yuan said.
I glanced at Sawyer. She didn't look up, but she did say, “I'll stay close to Endellion's operating room and let you know if anything happens.”
With a nod, I headed for the roof, my plasma rifle in hand. Mara met me when I rounded the corner to the stairwell. Although she was small, the black enviro-suit and rifle made up for any lack of natural intimidation, and she moved with the confidence of a fighter, which was all I really needed.
We jogged up the steps until we reached the roof. The tinted visor of my suit dimmed the intensity of the harsh sunlight. I didn't need to squint, and I took in my surroundings.
Lysander waited for us at the door, rifle against his chest. Before we headed toward the landing pads, he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. I switched my comms to private, and he pointed to the subcommander insignia embedded on the collarbone of his enviro-suit.
“We have a chain of command for a reason,�
� he said. “It's so that subordinates don't get confused. So there aren't conflicting orders or goals.”
“What of it?”
“Demarco,” he said, strained. “Put one and two together. We can't both issue commands. Do you understand? Basic training would've helped you with this.”
Fuck. He was right. I probably should have respected the whole chain-of-command thing more.
“I understand Endellion trusts you,” he continued. “And we are a small team, so I'm not going to contradict your orders now that we're in the middle of the operation, but I'd appreciate your cooperation in the future.”
I bet he wanted to yell, but he strove to be diplomatic. I could respect that. “I understand, Ground Commander Jevons,” I said with a formal bow of my head.
Lysander pushed me toward the landing pads. “Don't give me any of your bullshit. Let's get this over with.”
The roof of the medical facility had all the same structure and rigidity as the inside did. Fences surrounded the edge, a checkpoint office sat by the landing pads, and a small storage shed for incoming cargo all made me think it would be a quick job. Where could they have hidden?
Fifteen people hustled around, all dressed in jumpsuits. Workers. Two security guards stood near the checkpoint office. Unloaders gave me odd glances as I headed for the shuttles, and the guards got tense, each hefting their weapons.
We stopped one of the shuttle pilots. After we switched our comms to vocalize, Lysander pointed to the shuttles. “We have reason to believe these ships contain unauthorized weapons. We'll need to see your manifest.”
The shuttle pilot straightened her jumpsuit and nodded. “Of course. Right this way.”
Lysander walked to one shuttle, and Mara jumped to the other. The shuttles were small aircrafts meant to fly through the planet's atmosphere. They could carry 19 tons, along with four passengers, making them easy to search. Easy pickings.
While Lysander and Mara searched, I spotted guys moving crates from the storage shed to the elevator door. They moved in teams of two—one controlling a motorized dolly, and the other walking in front to kept the path clear.
I held up a hand. “What're you guys doing?”
“Working,” one quipped.
“We're going to have to search those.”
The unloaders gave the security guards questioning glances. The guards—two genetically-modified men as big as I was, perhaps bigger—wore similar enviro-suits to the enforcers of the Star Marque. They walked over with plasma rifles in hand and motioned for the unloaders to continue, despite my orders.
I slammed my hand on the motorized dolly to prevent them from leaving.
“We have a situation,” I said. “I'm an enforcer with the Star Marque. There's a group of terrorists, or jackasses, or whatever you want to call them. They're here to steal research.”
“Oh, yeah?” one security guard asked, baritone even through the comms of his suit. “Why wasn't this reported to main security?”
“Does it look like I know your special protocol around here? You call it in to main security. We have an emergency situation.”
“We need a cause for concern. A reason, or evidence, that makes you suspect terrorists are on the premises.”
“I've got a cause for concern,” I said. “We've got messages. One sec and I'll have them sent.”
I reached up to switch the comms, but then the guard moved. He slid one foot forward and twisted his hips ever so slightly, and while the motion wasn't overtly aggressive, I knew what was coming. My heart only beat once in the time it took for the guard to lift his rifle, and because we were so close, I pushed it to the side before he managed to pull the trigger, causing a bluish-white bolt of ionized gas to streak across the roof. It sliced through the fence and sailed off toward the horizon.
I was at a disadvantage. I didn't have my rifle up, and the second guard was readying his.
And they both moved as fast as I did.
During the second and third heartbeat, I lunged to the side and rolled behind one of the crates. The second guard fired and clipped my ribs, destroying a portion of my suit and burning a furrow straight through my bone and flesh. There was enough pain to see white, but the moment faded as survival adrenaline kicked in.
I planted my rifle against the side of the crate and fired. The plasma bolt seared through the lightweight aluminum alloy, streaked across the roof, and tunneled through the first guard's chest.
The other guard and I had a rapid-fire exchange that worked about as well as two blind guys trying to shoot a mouse. The crate sprouted holes at a frightening rate, and I shifted to the side to grab the dolly's steering handle. I pressed down on the accelerator, and the thing kicked up to a decent speed, perhaps 15 kilometers an hour. With a smile, I rode it toward the elevator, making sure to keep the crate between me and the trigger-happy guard.
I hadn't thought the genetically-modified personnel would have been in on the attack. I'd learned my goddamn lesson about assumptions.
More plasma fire lit up the area, and I chanced a peek at Lysander and Mara, who had joined the fray. A handful of unloaders pulled weapons from crates, but I gunned them down in a matter of seconds. Six shots, six bolts through the skulls of turncoat workers.
I caught sight of the injured guard crawling across the rooftop, blood gushing from his gaping chest wound, like he was creating a red carpet with his bodily fluid. Normal men would have gone straight into shock after taking a plasma bolt, but the guy had tenacity programmed into him.
I fired and clipped the side of his head, delivering a hot dose of mercy and creating a corpse.
Lysander and Mara weren't fast enough gunners to catch the other guard, however. The modified man leapt out of sight before tossing a clunky grenade. A pulse of electromagnetic energy—an EMP explosion—issued from the grenade, rocking the roof and wrecking simple electronics. The pulse stung my muscles, but it passed quickly, only to burn again when a second pulse washed out.
The motorized dolly fried and stopped functioning. The visor on my suit went on the fritz. The comms rang with bits of static. And then the trigger of my rifle ceased to function since the onboard computer was used to calculate the perfect ignition for the gas. It was required when firing, and without it, the gun was worthless.
The enviro-suit didn't stay down for long, much to my relief. As a backup safety, the suit had a protected battery cell that reset the systems. The visor returned to its normal function. Once back online, I jumped off the dolly and threw down my rifle. I would kill those assholes with my bare hands, if that was what they wanted.
One of the unloaders ran and leapt at me. I allowed him to collide with me—as stepping aside would have aggravated my rib injury—and he wrapped his arms around my torso. I activated the anti-grappling system of my enviro-suit without a second thought.
An extra-powerful jolt of electricity sparked from the seams of my suit. The unloader flew off and hit the roof on his back with a strained exhale, his body twitching. But the electricity didn't just hurt my attacker—the rip in my suit caused the system to shock me as well, though not as thoroughly.
I gritted my teeth and fell to one knee, struggling to maintain coherent thought.
Well, that was what I got for being fucking stupid.
As I forced myself to stand, I took note of the other unloaders. Most had taken cover or fled to the storage shed. Then my gaze landed on Mara. She was sprawled out on her back with no one else around her, one leg spasming. What happened? She hadn't been hit by a plasma bolt, and the only other weapon—
No, I knew. Sometimes those damn EMP grenades messed with internal cybernetic parts, especially the cheap ones. Hadn't Yuan said Mara had something in her brain? She needed to get out of the situation as fast as possible.
Controlling my breath and holding my rib injury, I ran for her, but the guard and Lysander caught my eye. Lysander had his plasma rifle's receiver open, exposing the cold gas bolts, along with the rifle's ignition. He was att
empting to fire the thing manually. I knew it could be done, but I had never seen anyone do it without burning themselves in the process. And they weren't superficial burns, either.
The guard pulled out a simple knife and headed for Lysander. Sometimes the old-fashioned weapons were the best. With his strength, he could carve up a normal human in seconds. And without a working rifle, Lysander was no match for someone of my caliber.
A tremor beneath my feet got everyone wobbling.
“Demarco,” Quinn said over the comms. “We have enemy combatants in the IT office.”
I closed the distance between myself and Lysander, only switching over my comms in time to say, “Handle it. We're busy.”
I tackled the guard, despite my wound, and we both hit the rooftop. The man jumped up faster than I did, but I kicked him and rolled to my feet. Again, the guard went for Lysander—because Lysander hadn't given up on fixing his rifle—and I didn't have the speed to adequately deal with the situation. In the fourth of a second that my mind took to race through the options, I leapt in the way and physically blocked the knife attack with my body.
The blade impacted on my enviro-suit, and the powerful mesh weaving warded off the steel weaponry with its dispersion of kinetic energy through micro-hexagonal structuring. But the guy was strong enough to force his way though. He grabbed my shoulder, tensed to thrust, but at the last fraction of a moment, slid the knife up to the hole in my suit and stabbed me between the ribs.
Fuck.
I grabbed him, kept him close, and tripped him while he focused on gutting me.
A searing sensation filled my chest, and each breath was harder than the last. Blood. It filled one lung. I coughed and half-choked, but I continued to wrestle the guard, keeping him from Lysander.
“Demarco, move!”
I released him and rolled away.
Lysander fired twice, burning two holes in the guard's chest and creating tiny divots in the roof. It seemed the reinforced alloy of the building had been designed to withstand standard plasma fire.
Star Marque Rising Page 23
